


Furnace

by 90sSlasherFan



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, Fighting Kink, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Bad At Summaries, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Size Difference
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-11-14 12:43:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18052712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/90sSlasherFan/pseuds/90sSlasherFan
Summary: David King is the spirit of his team, but that puts a tremendous pressure on his shoulders. The Trapper appreciates David's resolve, and when David gives up, his response ignites something between the two.





	1. Campfire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David at camp

The campfire was a cheap imitation of comfort, but one that was greatly appreciated by the survivors. In this realm, there were precious few sources of refuge, so it was best if nothing was taken for granted. Still, the campfire paled in comparison to the syrupy, amber warmth that fires in the real world produced. The fires here cast light and raised the temperature. That was it. It wasn’t enough to seep into the survivors’ skin and truly warm them. It did nothing to heal, to comfort, or even to stave off the real darkness that lurked in the woods. If the survivors were ever in need of repose, this pathetic excuse for a campfire merely teased them with a lazy replica of life before the trials.

Tonight was one of those nights where the survivors were desperate for a warmth that they would never find. Not here. Not in the embers and flames in front of them.

Meg was the last to return from the trial, and she didn’t have to say a word to let the others know how it went. After two generators were completed, The Sprit found Dwight cowering in a locker. He wound up on a basement hook, and was soon joined by Jake, whose reckless attempt at rescue was punished mercilessly. That left Meg and Claudette. The latter of the two completed the third generator and started working on the fourth, but was caught off guard by The Spirit. Meg didn’t even attempt to unhook her. Instead she scoured the map for the hatch.

Needless to say, she didn’t find it.

“This is the third trial in a row this has happened.” Jake massaged the area where the hook had pierced him. As usual, it healed after he was sacrificed, but the pain lingered. It always lingered.

“We’re getting careless.” Claudette mused to herself as she prepared her medkit for the next trial.

“It’s not carelessness,” the fire crackled quietly as Meg joined the circle of survivors, “I just don’t... care anymore.”

At this point, hope was a luxury nobody could afford. The bleak reality the Entity created for them was abundant in punishment and scarce in reward. The survivors could go a whole trial without encountering the killer once, and only receive clothes or packets of salt in return. Why should they fight when giving up yielded the same results?

“Well we can’t ‘ave that, can we, loves?” _That’s_ why they kept fighting. Because David King wouldn’t let them surrender. David was relatively new to the camp, but the scrapper had already left an indelible mark. Beside Laurie, and sometimes Kate, David was the only one with a real fighting spirit. He had more than a will to survive, he had the desperate need to fight back. It was honestly inspiring. After David’s arrival, there was a huge spike in the survivors’ success rate, to the point where trials became a nuisance rather than a test of life and death.

But every time the survivors went through a period of triumph, it was followed by an excruciating string of failures. The killers, it seemed, were able to adapt quicker and better than the survivors ever could. Still, David King went into every trial confident he would survive. The others broke down every now and then. David King did not.

“Not now, David. I’m really not in the mood.” Meg huffed. She used to be the fighter of the group, but having been here longer than most of the others, her spirit was ebbing.

“It’s not a matter of mood,” Meg sighed as David continued. “If my mood affected my performance, we’d all be piss outta luck.” Dwight smiled at that. David was temperamental at best, but everyone could admit that he pulled it together when he had a job to do. Dwight admired the man for many reasons, but the surprising control he had over his emotions was something else. Dwight looked at David as he spoke and couldn’t stop the pink warmth from spreading across his cheeks.

“You think I’m keen on being hooked like a bloody lamb for the slaughter? It’s not exactly my fuckin’ cup of tea, either.” Meg rolled her eyes. Sometimes she missed the days when David would keep to himself on the outskirts of the camp.

“David, we don’t need a pep talk right now.”

“Well yer not gettin’ one. Yer getting a kick in the arse cuz I’m sick of this bloody shit. Next person that talks ‘bout quittin’ is gonna ‘ave to take it up with yours truly.”

“It was bad today.” Dwight looked from David to his shoes as he spoke. “It just...hurt more.”

“S’alright. Just don’t get hooked next time, mate.” David punched Dwight on his arm lightly. It caught Dwight off guard, almost knocking him off the log he was perched on, but the gesture shook away the pain of the hooks, replacing it with a pleasant tangle of nerves in the pit of his stomach. Even Meg, despite her annoyance, was already feeling better. Something about David’s cockiness was infectious. Nobody was foolish enough to believe him when he “assured” them they’d never be hooked again, but it was comforting to know that someone was still an optimist in the Entity’s realm. As much as David fought for them, they fought for David. He was the one person left with that spark of hope, and it was a flame that nobody wanted to see snuffed out; It was the only fire in this world that provided any real warmth.

“You know, David, I can’t stand you sometimes.”

“Feeling’s mutual there, Meg. Never cared much for redheads.” With that final quip, all was right again. The group huddled around the campfire, chatting about nothing in particular until, one by one, they began returning to their personal spaces.

With only one small shack to provide shelter, the group decided early on that it was fair if they reserved the shack for supplies instead of only a couple of survivors having real shelter. After converting that building into a warehouse of sorts, they each cornered off sections of camp for themselves and, using gifts from the Entity, fashioned bedding and décor like children building pillow forts.

Dwight had built his area right next to David’s. Coincidentally, of course.

“You getting tired?” Dwight studied David as the larger man obsessed over the campfire. The flames painted yellow and red swirls on his rugged features, highlighting his masculine jaw and scarred, but soft lips. David, almost sensing Dwight’s gaze, turned to him with an endearing grin.

“Why? You eager to get me to bed with ya?” David followed his question with a barely audible chuckle. Dwight nervously laughed in response.

It was a joke. Good.

“No, no, it’s just,” Dwight stumbled over his words, “just that I’m feeling tired myself and I don’t want to leave you alone.” David looked around. He hadn’t noticed that the others had all gone to bed. Time felt like an afterthought in this world, so he often forgot he had to sleep at all.

“Yer a good mate, Dwight. If yer tired, though, ya might as well get some rest. I’ll be dozin’ off pretty soon too.” That was a lie. David wouldn’t get much sleep tonight. He could feel it in his bones.

“How do you do it, David?” The question startled David out of his thoughts; he was so focused on being alone that he hadn’t anticipated having to listen to someone else.

“Sorry, mate. Do what?”

“You’re not bothered. You’ve been hunted and hooked and … killed, but nothing changes. You came into this realm kicking and screaming and you haven’t stopped once. How are you so determined to persevere?” David was so flattered by the words that he almost started to believe them. But deep down, he knew they were a lie. David could put on a face like nobody else, but masks are only good for the people looking from the outside. David knew what was underneath it all. Even still, he had to lie to Dwight.

“If I don’t fight, the lot of you sure as hell won’t.” That wasn’t necessarily a lie, actually. “And I never get tired of a fight – you know me, mate.” That _was_ a lie. That was such a lie, David almost laughed at himself. David was more tired than anyone at camp. His bones ached for a rest, a chance to remember what it felt like to be safe. Most of all, he was tired of acting, but he’d been doing that since before he was taken by the Entity.

“You never want to just give up sometimes?”

Yes.

“No. Why let that bastard up there,” he gestured toward the saffron sky above, “have the satisfaction of breaking me down?” David finally turned to inspect, Dwight. “You feel like givin’ up, lad?”

A small pause as the fire slowly began to shrink.

“Yes.” That simple ‘yes’ was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Hot tears pooled in Dwight’s eyes as he turned away from David. Dwight felt weak enough without having to face someone as strong as David.

“Fuckin’ hell.” David cursed under his breath. David had a soft spot for Dwight, but whenever he started crying he wanted to give the man a good smack. There wasn’t room for sniveling or pity, not in this realm. But just as quickly as Dwight’s crying would piss David off, it was always replaced by a strange jealousy that stabbed tiny pins into David’s heart.

_I wish I could be that vulnerable._

David snaked an arm around Dwight’s shoulder. Dwight hadn’t noticed David move closer.

“Chin up, mate. Yer only givin’ The Entity what it wants.” Dwight leaned in to David’s body and was immediately warmed by the heat that radiated from him. “Givin’ up is only gonna get yer arse strung up on a hook. Then it’ll be my bloody job to get ya off of it.” The two men laughed and Dwight could feel the rise and fall of David’s chest. They were rarely this close, so Dwight never had the chance to appreciate just how fit the Brit was. His pectorals were firm as rocks, but that wasn’t surprising considering David’s life before the trials. Still, Dwight secretly relished in the sensation of being held by such strong, sturdy arms; they felt solid enough to ground Dwight in this terrifyingly floaty hellscape.

“Thank you.”

“No thanks needed, mate. If yer done with yer cryin’ now,” David tussled Dwight’s hair like an older brother teasing his sibling, “why don’t ya lay down for a bit. I’m gonna prepare a toolbox before I go to bed.”

“Okay.” Dwight’s tears had subsided. He wiped the back of his hand across his pink cheeks to clear away the remaining drops that had fallen. Dwight didn’t want to leave David’s side, but he pried himself away and silently crept to his bed. The moment his head hit his makeshift pillow, he was fast asleep.

David was left alone by the campfire. He pushed around the twigs and ash with a stick to occupy his hands as his mind raced, his thoughts eventually resting upon a singular, secret shame. He _did_ want to give up. He stopped poking at the fire and watched quietly as it gradually dimmed to nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first time writing or publishing anything like this, so I'm open to any feedback. Please tell me what needs to be fixed so I can work on it for future chapters. The first couple of chapters are going to be mostly exposition, but I promise there will be smut eventually. Hope y'all enjoy!


	2. Playing With Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David risks his life in a trial

“That’s not a diversion. That’s stupid!” Crows hopped around the survivors, cawing almost inaudibly as they perched on the nearby rocks and windowsills. Quentin’s groans of pain from the other side of the wall almost drowned out the faint heartbeat that drummed in everyone’s ears. They had to act fast.

“The gate on the other side is already opened,” David whispered, “and the other one is right around the corner.” The heartbeat grew louder, but quickly faded into the background noise of the agitated crows.

“You’re not fast enough, sweetie.” That’s how David knew Kate was annoyed. Her proper southern etiquette wouldn’t allow her to call anyone a straight up dumbass, so she settled for using “sweetie” or “honey” as transparent placeholders.

“I should be the one to do it. I can lose the killer in a second.”

“We don’t want to lose the killer, Nea. We need to get him away from ‘ere long enough to get Quentin off the hook and to open that gate. I haven’t taken a hit yet so I should be the distraction.” His tone left no room for argument; David was stubborn when he wanted to be, which was beginning to feel like all the time. Nea looked to Kate for confirmation on what to do, and after mulling it over, the brunette rolled her eyes and sighed a response.

“We’ll all be through the gates within a minute. If you get hooked, don’t expect a rescue.” David smiled.

“Guess I won’t let myself get hooked then, right?”

_What an ass._ Kate shook her head. _I bet he’s an Aries_. Before David went to execute his plan, Kate grabbed his wrist gently.

“Try not to get yourself killed. Please?” Even if the Brit was exceedingly arrogant, Kate supposed it was part of his obnoxious charm, and despite butting heads with him she was praying for his survival.

David winked at Kate and turned, staying low to the ground as he stalked towards a boulder a couple of meters away. The closer he got to the rock, the louder the heartbeat in his ear became. He was running out of time. Peering over the rock, he caught a glimpse of the Trapper, and a chill crept its way up and down his spine. The Trapper was by no means the scariest of the killers, at least not to David, but there was something about his manner that turned David’s guts into Jell-O. Maybe it was his size, or rather his build that terrified David. The killers had all been augmented by the Entity in one way or another, each of them possessing supernatural abilities that David couldn’t even begin to fathom. But take away their powers, their chainsaws, their claws, and David was confident he could kick any one of their asses. Except the Trapper. The Trapper was naturally stronger than David, and that was a rare experience for the brawler. Whenever David was unfortunate enough to be caught by the Trapper, he always felt embarrassingly small as he was carried to the hooks. He was a ragdoll in the powerful arms of the killer. That scared David shitless. But it also made him feel … something. Something he either couldn’t or wouldn’t ever explain.

He didn’t have time to think of that right now, however. Quentin was fighting off the entity, and the Trapper was nearing Kate and Nea’s hiding spot.

_No time like the present,_ David thought as he began sprinting towards a window. Quickly vaulting through it caused an almost deafening thud that instantly caught the Trapper’s attention. David whipped his head around to see the red stain of the killer inching it’s way closer before he turned and began the chase.

The opened exit gate was relatively close, but far enough where David could be downed by the Trapper, even in his perfectly healthy state. He couldn’t afford to be careless. Juking around corners and pallets, David lead the Trapper through a maze of misdirection, always maintaining a safe distance between the two of them – just in case. A quiet buzz rang through the cornfields, signaling that the exit gates had been opened.

_DING_. The sound of a bell. Someone made it through the gates.

_DING._ Only one more to go.

SNAP. Someone got caught.

Instinctively, David checked around his feet. Had he stepped in a trap and was too high on adrenaline to realize? No. The scream of pain that followed the snap signified that Kate had been unfortunate enough to get too comfortable right at the finish line.

_How, Kate? You were right there!_ David stood in an eerie stand off with the Trapper. Would he continue his pursuit of David, or …

No. He quickly turned and stalked off towards Kate. This was not going according to plan.

“Oi! Get back here, ya ugly bastard!” David prayed he could antagonize the killer long enough for Kate to free herself, but the Trapper remained unperturbed. Clearly, he was too used to David’s taunts. If the scrapper wanted to distract the killer, he would have to think of something different.

So he did.

“I’m talkin’ to ya, ya bloody monster!” Fueled by instinct and stupidity, David sprinted full force into the back of the Trapper, catching him off guard. The killer stumbled forward, tripping over some small rocks and colliding with a metal locker. Standing mere feet from the Trapper, David rubbed his shoulder. _That fuckin’ hurt!_ It felt like David had run straight into a seven-foot cinderblock. But it worked.

_DING_. Kate was free. Which left David totally alone with the Trapper.

Shit.

The Trapper stood up straight and slowly turned to face David, who had begun inching his way back to the exit gates without taking his eyes off the killer. Sooner or later, one of them would have to make a move, but for now, they just stared at each other.

If David didn’t know any better, he would say that the Trapper was … smiling. It was hard to tell exactly what was happening behind that twisted, ivory mask of his, but the Trapper didn’t seem nearly as pissed as David expected. Maybe he was shocked? Nobody had ever _fought_ the killers before. Sure, they struggled, and sometimes slipped out of their grasps, but to actively throw yourself at one? That was unheard of – at least until now.

David didn’t have much longer to contemplate the Trapper’s reaction, as the killer decided that he would be the one to break the standoff. With a primal snarl, the (usually silent) killer rushed at David, who only narrowly avoided the larger man’s cleaver. David wasn’t lucky enough to dodge the follow up strike, however, and he howled in pain as the blade pierced his shoulder blade. Removing the cleaver required a considerable amount of strength from the killer, and David took the opportunity to put some distance between them. He threw a pallet down and sidestepped a bear trap that was hidden in the tall grass. By now, David was well aware of the Trapper’s usual trap locations.

The sound of splintering wood behind him alerted David that the Trapper had destroyed the pallet and was back on his tail. If he could just make it a few more feet, he would be home free. David’s heart was beating like a drum as he neared the exit gates. He _had_ to make it. He just _had_ to.

The trapper raised his cleaver one last time and brought it down hard. David lunged to avoid it and –

_DING._ The cleaver tore through the thick back of David’s jacket, but nothing more. David turned to stare at the Trapper as the fog swirled around him. The killer stared back. Eyes locked with the towering man across the fog, David wondered if he had made a grave mistake just now. The killers were already bad enough, but one with a personal vendetta? That might make David’s job around here a lot harder. For now, however, the Trapper could only watch silently as the fog stole David away to the campsite, where he was met by worried friends and a roaring fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the positive feedback. I know the first chapter was a little slow, but the action will pick up within the next few updates. Feel free to leave some criticism so I know what to look out for as I continue writing


	3. Striking the Match

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evan reflects on the trial

The lives of the killers were almost homely and quaint if one looked at them through squinted eyes. For all intents and purposes, they were the nuclear family; they had jobs to sustain a living, and between that job they were free to socialize or relax in their own private dwellings. Just like the survivor campsite, there was a fire pit in the center of their woods that served as a sort of hub for the inhabitants, but while the survivors sat on logs around the fire, the killers were privileged with oak stumps that had been fashioned into chairs. However, the cozy cabins littered about the campsite were the most enviable luxuries the killers took for granted.

            Each of the Entity’s children – and that _is_ what they thought of themselves – had a medium sized log cabin exclusively for themselves. Nobody knew how or when they appeared, but sure enough whenever a new killer joined camp another cottage would manifest itself. As if it had always been there.

            The interiors of the cabins were unique for everyone. Personal belongings like pictures and clothes appeared as rewards for satiating the thirst of their unseen keeper. It was the simplest of systems, really: kill more… get more. Killers would return from total bloodbaths to find velvety curtains cascading around their windows, plump down pillows littering their impossibly soft beds, and – if the Entity was especially pleased – memories from their past lives. It was rare, but a merciless killing could be rewarded with a treasured memento the killers didn’t even realize they missed. Though these gifts were few and far between, it pushed everyone to the furthest reaches of their brutality in hopes of catching another glimpse of their former selves.

            Evan MacMillan had started burning those memories a long time ago.

            Returning from a trial without a single sacrifice was detestable enough, but the events of the last trial had ignited something in Evan that he had yet to identify. He kicked the front door of his cabin open, splintering the wood around the hinges. _The Entity will fix that._ Or would it? Evan wasn’t so sure after his horrible performance. He had taken the bait. Why had he taken the obvious bait? Any other body and he would’ve seen right through it, but the fact that it was _him…_ he just had to go after him.

            _He’s arrogant for a body_. Evan told himself. _That’s why._ Convincing himself that his misstep was fueled only by a desire to punish the would-be sacrifice was easiest for Evan, so he resolved to repeating that in his head until he believed it. Sitting down to start tinkering on his traps, Evan recounted the amateurish mistakes he’d made.

No matter which way Evan thought about it, he couldn’t blame anyone other than himself; it was so obvious. That male body could’ve been wearing a neon sign that said “Follow me, Evan! I’m a distraction!” and Evan still would’ve pursued him. A palpable heat bubbled and screamed in Evan’s chest. Was he angry? It had been so long since Evan felt anything other than primal urges, he was genuinely puzzled by this sudden flux of emotion. Yes. He must’ve been angry at the cocky body. That had to be it.

            Evan channeled his frustration into his work, inspecting every spring and bolt of his traps until he was certain they could cut through bone like a warm knife through butter. He handed a screwdriver to the air behind him and it was received and fiddled with by unseen fingers.

            Phillip enjoyed watching Evan work, and Evan – well Evan tolerated it. Relationships and socialization were beyond bizarre among killers, but Evan could confidently say that he and Phillip were friends, and for whatever reason that friendship had value. To both of them. Despite glaring limitations to communication, they likely had the healthiest relationship of any of the killers, but that honestly said very little given the competition. Still, Phillip and Evan grew close without ever speaking, and Evan developed a protective, big brotherly fondness towards Phillip, who Evan truly believed was undeserving of the punishment of being here.

            _What is “here?”_ Evan often wondered. It was too senseless to be Hell, he had decided that within months (though who could tell how much time had really passed) of arriving. The faint memories Evan had of his mortal life also ruled out Heaven, unless heaven was full of murderers, sadists, and … Evan avoided even thinking about _that_. Regardless of what Evan was, he was certainly not worthy of passing through the pearly gates, and that left only a couple of puzzling possibilities as to what this realm was.

            Purgatory seemed like the most obvious answer. After all, Evan believed – hoped, really – that he wasn’t a total monster in the eyes of whoever watched over him, though his body count was startling high. To Evan, however, his actions always had motives beyond himself, chalking his dark deeds up to admiral but inhuman displays of devotion.

            When Evan looked at his “companions,” however, the Purgatory theory became increasingly unrealistic. Sure there were people like Lisa and Anna who originally killed out of necessity, but there were also people here that killed for pleasure, or killed innocent children solely for the perverse thrill. _People like that_ , Evan snarled to himself, _are not even worth purgatory._ Evan could find holes in every theory he had except for one, but the thought was enough to make even a hardened killer’s skin crawl.

            Maybe, there was no reason anyone was here. What if this was merely a playground for a dark power that enjoyed seeing people suffer. Was it possible that Evan’s memories weren’t even real? Could they have been created by the Entity to reward Evan even though he was created by the Entity itself? And if there was no reason to being here, there was likely no way to escape. The weight of an eternity of _this_ settled once more on Evan’s broad shoulders, dragging his thoughts into an abyssal pit of despair.

A light tap on the shoulder snapped Evan out of his thoughts and he turned to see a spring float in front of his face. How had he missed that? Evan’s grunt signified a “thank you” as he took the spring from Phillip and began tinkering once more. The sound of featherlight footsteps slowing fading away meant Phillip had left, probably to observe Amanda, who was just returning from a trial.

The trial.

Evan roared as he slammed the table in frustration. He was too distracted to work. That smug body occupied his mind and flaunted Evan’s failures over and over. Evan was livid. A body – a fucking _body_ – had the nerve to attack him. Evan ground his teeth at the thought. _I could snap him in half without breaking a sweat. I’ve done it before._ It felt as though a rule had been broken. Things were rarely black and white in this realm, but one thing was certain: bodies didn’t fight back. This one body consistently defied that, and it made Evan’s blood boil. The verbal taunting the body had started with was annoying, but easily ignored, but physically challenging the killer crossed a line Evan didn’t know he’d even drawn. It was so disrespectful, so brash, so … bold.

Angry. Yes. Evan had to be angry.

And yet, he smiled at him. After the shock of the blow, Evan turned and smiled at the body for a reason that Evan himself could not understand. And behind the smile was a giddy excitedness sparked by the physicality. It teased at some hidden, primitive need that Evan was unknowingly desperate to fulfil. This body, through something as simple – as childish as a shove, had thrown off the balance of Evan’s fragile world, and sparked a flame in the cold heart of the hardened killer.

Evan looked forward to seeing that body again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things will start heating up soon, don't worry!


	4. In Cold Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David can't run from the Trapper forever

            Blood pooled at David’s feet, darkening the torn jacket he wore as the liquid languidly seeped from the open wounds on his torso. Despite the pain, David inhaled slow and deep into his diaphragm, hoping to recover at least a little before the killer found him again. It hurt to breathe, but David was desperate to catch his breath.

            _So he IS pissed, then._

            The Trapper had completely steamrolled the survivors this trial, hooking Adam and Laurie and using a Mori to savagely kill Ace before anyone completed a generator. David made several attempts to rescue his peers, but the Trapper was being uncharacteristically watchful of the hooked survivors. Whenever David neared a hook, the Trapper was on him within seconds, only ever scaring him away despite ample opportunity to attack. After Laurie and Adam had been sacrificed, however, the Trapper pursued David with an unprecedented bloodlust. He shredded through pallets David through down, and after a long chase, slashed David’s obliques with a sanguinary swing of his cleaver.

            The gash the Trapper left was deep and _agonizing_. David wanted to sob through the pain that burned throughout his body, but he couldn’t afford to make any noise that would alert the killer. Without a medkit, David had no way to mend the wound, and he certainly wasn’t in any condition to go spelunking around for chests. If only he’d been paying attention when Claudette was teaching Nea how to patch herself up.

            In an effort to assess the damage, David cautiously inspected the dark red rip in his torso. Hissing, he skirted his fingers around the perimeter of the wound and found that it spanned almost all the way from his spine to his underarm. David didn’t have to check to know that the cut was fatally deep. The air seared into his vulnerable flesh, and David swore he could feel his ribs chill from being exposed to the breeze.

            _Bastard got me real fuckin’ good._ _Another hit and I’m dead for sure._

            Though David had miraculously lost the killer in the chaos of their chase, he could feel the Trapper’s presence looming somewhere close. Nearby lockers were flung open as the killer hunted for David, giving minuscule clues about the Traper’s location, but he couldn’t be careless enough to think that he had an opportunity to run. David, a bull in a china shop if there ever was one, would have to rely on stealth. Another cautionary glance from behind the boulder let David know that the coast was clear for now, and that was good enough for David to start skulking to where he thought the hatch might be.

            David had braced for pain as he began walking, but it wasn’t enough to prepare him for the white-hot agony that set David’s body on fire as he took his first step. Barely stopping a scream with his clenched teeth, the Brit toppled over when his wounds got the better of him. He put his arm out to break his fall, and he felt something odd beneath him. Something cold, something metal, something –

            SNAP.

            David couldn’t stop from yelling this time. His arm had landed directly on one of the bastard’s traps, its rusty teeth tearing through the flesh of David’s forearm and bicep with impossible ease. The sensation was beyond excruciating, and David’s vision grew blurry from the blood loss, pain, and the fear of what was on its way. The Trapper knew where David was now, which gave David only seconds to free himself.

            David threw his body on top of one of the springs. The shift in his weight sent a new wave a pain careening through his broken body, but as he pressed down, the teeth opened up more and more. Finally, there was enough room for him to squeeze his arm out, but not without catching some of the teeth and ripping his skin even more. Despite his luck, David had freed himself, and just in time to see the Trapper stomp towards him.

            He had to leverage himself against the wall to do it, but David was now standing, and was just about arm’s length away from the killer. He panicked. He couldn’t run, he couldn’t hide, he couldn’t fight – or could he? It appeared to be his only option. Perhaps lighting would strike twice and David could catch the killer off guard to buy himself some desperately needed time. It wasn’t a good plan, but it was the best he could come up with right now. David was practically swimming in his own blood as he rammed himself full force into the oncoming killer.

            Unfortunately, the Trapper has anticipated this, and prepared for the collision well before David even stood up. The impact of crashing into such an unmovable force jostled David’s arm, making him howl in overwhelming anguish. Before David could topple over, one of the Trapper’s burly arms was behind the Brit to catch him, dragging the smaller man to his feet in a grotesque display of strength. David was now face to chest with the killer, nose pressed into the rubber coveralls of the Trapper, who reeked of sweat and blood. David inhaled and noticed that the scent wasn’t all that unpleasant. In fact, it was intoxicatingly masculine.

            Why had he noticed that?

            David was pulled up by his short hair to look directly into the Trapper’s eyes. They were unreadable. Figures. Why would David expect to see any semblance of humanity in a man – no – in a monster that hunted him daily. David had to remind himself that this thing in front of him was not some bully with a traumatic past lashing out at someone weaker. He was a merciless, supernatural evil. Nothing more.

            _But he smiled at me._

            Was the Trapper smiling now? David couldn’t tell. He supposed it didn’t matter, because even if he was smiling, it would only be from the demented pleasure he took from another man’s suffering.

            And boy was David suffering. Though the pain was minor compared to his arm and torso, being pulled up by his hair put a horrid strain on David’s scalp, to the point where he wouldn’t be surprised if it was torn clean off. Trying to get any form of leverage, David used the hand of his good arm to grab on to the Trapper’s bicep and pull himself away.

            When David’s hand made contact with the Trapper’s arm, however, the scrapper froze. It was huge. David had been carried by the Trapper before, but he was always so preoccupied with struggling that he’d never truly _felt_ the Trapper. David could barely fit his hand around half of the killer’s bicep, which felt as thick and firm as the logs at the survivor campsite. For a brief moment, David forgot about his pain, preoccupied by marveling at the musculature of the man holding him.

            David was by no means a small guy. Years of brawling and training had made him an intimidatingly brawny man that could easily rough up anyone that wanted a bit of trouble. Suspended above the ground by a muscled behemoth of man, however, David appeared and felt tiny – wimpy even. The Trapper could crack David open like an egg at any moment, but for now, David was intact and at the mercy of a ruthless murderer.

Somehow feeling bold despite his current state, David gave a hesitant squeeze to the Trapper’s arm. Nothing. There was absolutely no give to the killer’s bicep, and holding David up required the Trapper to flex his bicep, which made it that much firmer under David’s comparatively small hand.

            The Trapper, equal parts confused and curious now, lowered David to the ground, making the smaller man wince as his weight was redistributed. David almost asked to be picked back up; the burden of even standing was too much right now. In a pathetic, shameful way, being held by the Trapper made David feel weak, and for whatever reason, David loved that. Frankly, he had always felt weak – weaker than he ever wanted to admit, but against someone as daunting and powerful as the Trapper, he was more than comfortable being vulnerable. Nobody was expecting David to fight right now because nobody was expecting David to win. The idea thrilled David. He could give up if he wanted to. He could stop fighting, and _God_ he needed to stop fighting so bad.

            Hand still squeezing the Trapper’s bicep, David let a jarringly cheerful smile crack its way across his face. His cheeks became slick with tears that cleaned the dirt from his face as they cascaded down his rugged features, and he broke out into a noiseless fit of laughter that startled the Trapper into letting go of him. Without the support of the larger man, David dropped to his knees, too broken to care about his wounds as he fell.

            He continued to laugh from his new position in the dirt, occasionally sniffling in between irrational giggles. All the while, Evan MacMillan, servant to the Entity and cruel killer, did nothing but watch in stunned silence.

            When David finally stopped laughing, he gazed up to look at the Trapper, scalding tears still betraying his giddy expression. On his knees in front of the Trapper, David looked provocatively helpless, which sent a variety basket of urges racing through the killer’s body. As David came down from the newfound high of being weak, the gleam in his eye shifted to something much more needy and full of want. His eyes seemed to darken, though they were still glassy from crying, and he looked more and more defenseless in a way that both beckoned and confused the Trapper.

            Not knowing what else to do, the Trapper pulled David to a standing position, only to have the Brit flop to his knees the second he let go. The Trapper tried again. David stood for a second or two, but collapsed, whimpering as he hit the ground. Now the Trapper was angry. Hoisting David up one last time, the killer gave him a little push in hopes that David would start running, or maybe even push back. Instead, the force of the shove left David in a crumpled, bloody mess on the ground.

            David moaned from suffering, and the noise sent a tingling sensation down the Trapper’s spine. He desperately wanted to hear that sound again.

 “I …” the words clawed their way painfully out of David’s mouth. He slowly sat up to face the Trapper as he continued. “I don’t want to fight anymore. I can’t.”

            As David spoke, he could feel heat leaving his body. He was bleeding out. Finally. In the real world, he would’ve died the second the Trapper’s cleaver hit him, but in the realm of the Entity, David was forced to endure the agonizing process of hemorrhaging at a supernaturally slow rate. Admitting that he wanted to give up was the only thing David had done so far that relieved him of any pain.

            A kick to the ribs brought the pain straight back. Obviously, the Trapper did not take kindly to quitters, and he began an onslaught of furious punts to David’s side, the metal toe of his huge boots bruising the scrapper with every blow. After what must’ve been a minute of relentless pain, the Trapper stopped to inspect his prey. David was still alive, laying in the dirt, awaiting death. The killer stalked away from him and disappeared into the rows of corn that polluted this map.

The second the Trapper was gone, David began sobbing. David didn’t think it was possible to be in this much pain, but here he was, crippled by agony and breathing against his own will. Tears began to mix with blood as David once more begged the cruel presence above him for the privilege of death. He was still crying when the Trapper returned with a medkit and supplies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work will probably start being updated less frequently, as I'm now at the point where I'm writing new chapters rather than editing already written ones, but don't worry: THIS WORK IS NOT BEING ABANDONED


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